i see
by sharim
Summary: The world became dark, and each touch held a thousand nightmares.
1. i see

_**i see**_

TITLE: i see  
  
AUTHOR: sharim  
  
EMAIL:  
  
SPOILERS: Theef, En Ami, All Things, Requiem, Minor ones for Paper Clip, The Blessing Way and Anasazi, Chimera,  
  
CATEGORY: Angst, Drama, MS  
  
SUMMARY: Mulder didn't find the doll  
  
AN: This is the first in a three part series. The other two parts are planned, so they should get written.  
  
Yes, I know I used this song in another fic, but it just keeps going round and round and round, and I don't even have a stupid add to blame it on.  
  
i see  
  
by sharim

_i see trees of green  
red roses too  
i see them bloom  
for me and you_

o0o  
  
Strength was a state of mind, and it was an attribute she had always prided herself on. Smaller than average with baby fine skin and large blue eyes, her physique simply did not lend itself to the impression of strength. There were only a handful of instances that she could remember where she lost her sense of strength, and she cared little for remembering those instances.  
  
_What doesn't kill you makes you stronger._  
  
And lying on broken glass and splintered wood, listening to the sounds of a dying man while her eyes burnt and ached and nails of pain were driven into her skull, she felt weak. Powerless.  
  
_I was powerless._  
  
Lucy Wieder's panicked screams, Robert Wieder's gasping cries, Peattie's slurred grammar, the darkness, god it hurt, her gun, where was her gun, she had to find it.  
  
"You're killing him!"  
  
No teenager should have to hear their father die.  
  
Her fingers scrabbled through the darkness as she pulled herself upright, the rough wall of the cabin splintering into her skin as she orientated herself and frantically ran her hands over smooth table tops, book cases, benches... anything.. knocking photo frames and lamps, always searching.  
  
Her gun, where was it?  
  
"STOP IT!" Lucy's screams rang in her mind. Scully could smell the fear, the sour scent of rotted milk and decaying flesh, the tang of strange herbs and the empty rattle of spiced charms.  
  
_Hexcraft is a powerful thing, Scully._  
  
"DADDY! You're killing him!"  
  
She couldn't find her gun. She couldn't see. She couldn't do anything. Powerless. She was powerless and it was dark.  
  
_I was powerless._  
  
Wood shattered somewhere, and cold air rushed against her skin, a whirlwind of motion she couldn't see.  
  
"Scully?" Mulder. "Drop it!"  
  
"Mulder?" she cried, searching blindly through the dark.  
  
"Hold on, Scully. Peattie, I said drop it!"  
  
"He's dying!" Lucy screamed again.  
  
"He killed her." Peattie's voice, low and cold, rasping over the sobbing and the wind.  
  
"Put the doll down!" Mulder ordered.  
  
Scully stifled a giggle - she couldn't get hysterical. Not now, not now, not now.  
  
"DADDY!"  
  
A crack, acrid gun smoke, a heavy thud, silence, crying, movement..  
  
Hands on her shoulders. She jerked, but it was only Mulder. "Scully?"  
  
"Wieder," Scully whispered, letting her fingers brush his coat for a second as she tried to steady herself. "He needs help." She tried to look up at Mulder, but she couldn't see.  
  
"Shit!" he hissed, his fingers clenching over her jaw.  
  
"I'm fine, Mulder." She pushed him away. "Wieder needs help - go!"  
  
He let go, disconnecting her from the world as his touch faded from her skin and she was left in the whirling emptiness, unsure of whether up was down or down was up.  
  
_I'm fine, Mulder._

__o0o  
  
The scratchiness of the blanket on her shoulders was a light weight binding her to the cold vinyl of the ambulance floor. Her feet were beginning to protest as her position cut off their blood flow, but she didn't move. The sensation made her feel alive; reminded her that she still was. The cold night air touching her face and fingers carried the muted sound of voices to her, damp against her lips. It had been foggy when they'd arrived at the safe house; doubtless that was the moisture she could feel now. Doors banged and gravel crunched under booted feet.  
  
She didn't like the dark; she'd never been fond of it, even as a child.  
  
"Agent Scully?" A voice called from the darkness. Habitually she raised her head to look, but she realised almost instantly that she couldn't see.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"How are you doing?"  
  
Her lips felt dry beneath her tongue, despite the moisture from the foggy air. "I'm fine... was it Karen?"  
  
"Yes, that's me." She could hear a faint smile on the soft voice. "We'd like to get you to a hospital, Ma'am, to run some tests."  
  
"You won't find anything." Mulder, arrogantly confident no matter what.  
  
"Agent Mulder, people don't just go blind with no warning," Karen interrupted smoothly, and Scully closed her useless eyes as she listened to them.  
  
"She's not blind," Mulder insisted.  
  
"Mulder, I can't see," Scully pointed out calmly, sighing.  
  
"No, you're not, Scully!" Mulder argued. "If you could see your eyes-" he stopped abruptly as the words hung between them.  
  
"But that's the problem, Mulder," she said softly, I _can't_ see."  
  
"You ready to go, Ma'am?" Karen asked softly.  
  
"Yes," Scully nodded, casting the blanket from her shoulders. "Could you help me to the front, please?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Karen's hands were rough and cool, strong as she guided Scully from the back of the van and helped her to the front of the ambulance.  
  
"We'll fix this, Scully, I promise," Mulder whispered quietly.

o0o

If she closed her eyes and leant against the ample stack of pillows behind her back, she could almost pretend that nothing was wrong. Listening to the familiar sounds of a busy hospital was nothing strange to her, but the smells were suddenly stronger than they had ever been. Traces of disinfectant mingled with the sound of trolley wheels slapping against the cold floor. The steady hum of voices drifting in from the hall carried the sickly sweet scent of medication and decaying flowers left too long in the wards.  
  
The rubber squeak of shoes against lino carried the scent of Mulder's aftershave.  
  
"Mulder?" she asked.  
  
"Hey, Scully." She could hear the smile on his voice, masking the uncertainty his footsteps showed her. "How's it going?"  
  
She shrugged - at least he could still see the motion. "Nothing. Tests came up empty. It's as if my optic nerve has just stopped responding to stimulation completely."  
  
"No damage?" he questioned curiously, and she heard the rough scrape as he dragged a chair across the floor to sit next to her bedside.  
  
"No," she shook her head and closed her eyes, and for another second it was almost normal again. Only she could hear Mulder's quiet breathing, the comforting rustle of his suit jacket and the suddenly oppressing scent of his aftershave. She swallowed. "If there was damage, we'd have something to work with, but there's nothing, Mulder. There is _nothing_ wrong with me."  
  
The warmth of his hand against hers startled her and she flinched involuntarily. His hand disappeared as quickly as it had alighted on her skin, and she snatched for it shamelessly, her fingers scratching through the empty air. "Mulder?" she gasped.  
  
"I'm here," he soothed, grasping her flailing hand with his and gripping it firmly. "I'm right here, Scully, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
"I can't see, Mulder," she whispered. She could feel her eyes moving, feel them straining to focus, to sense _something_ in the emptiness. But there was nothing; no light and no darkness. Nothing moved and nothing was still. It was empty.  
  
Her fingers were crushing his, she realized, but he didn't complain.  
  
Her eyes stung with salt tears, burning. And when they spilt over her lids and traced down her cheek they felt hot and sticky like blood.

o0o

_and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world_

__o0o  
  
Mulder sat back in the late Robert Wieder's chair and rubbed his hands across his face. His five o'clock shadow scraped at his hands before his fingers threaded through his hair. He sighed in frustration and sat upright, once again leaning forward to focus on the pages on the desk in front of him. His concentration wavered though, and he found himself gazing at the large framed photograph of the Wieder family. Father, Mother and daughter. All smiling, all happy. He picked the heavy frame up and examined it, scrutinizing Lucy Wieder. Her eyes weren't shadowed by grief and fear in this photo; they were still the innocent blue eyes of a teenager, excited, fresh and young, ready to begin her life.  
  
He looked up as the door to Wieder's office opened, and the object of his scrutiny stepped into the room.  
  
"Oh," she said simply, stopping as she saw him. "I... What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
Mulder glanced guiltily at the frame he still clutched in his hands. "Paperwork."  
  
She frowned, stepping forwards. "But this is my Dad's office."  
  
"Yes, I know," he nodded, gently replacing the photo in its position on the desk. "Dr. Khymer suggested I use his office while I wait for Scully..." he sighed.  
  
"How is Agent Scully?" Lucy asked politely.  
  
Mulder shrugged. "She's fine," he said simply, hating the acid in his voice mimicking Scully's controlled tones.  
  
"Can... can she see yet?"  
  
"No. They can't find anything wrong with her though."  
  
"Peattie did it, didn't he." It wasn't a question, and he didn't undermine her intelligence by trying to deny it. "He did it to her, the same way he killed my Dad and my Mom and my Grandpa."  
  
"I'm sorry, Lucy," he said gently.  
  
Her hands were shaking as she picked up the photo he'd put on the desk, tears swimming in her eyes. "I hope he dies," she whispered. "I hope he hurts as much as he hurt me..."  
  
She didn't object when he stood up and moved around the desk to gather her in his arms. He was surprised at how easily she accepted his presence, how easily she just let him hold her and comfort her. Then again, he supposed he shouldn't be; she was still young, and she wasn't Scully.  
  
"Does that make me a bad person?" she whispered.  
  
Did it? "I don't know," he admitted. "I think we all wish the people who hurt us would rot in hell and hurt as much they hurt us, but I don't think that makes you a bad person. I think it makes you a real person."  
  
"What about you?" she asked.  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Do you hate him?"  
  
_Do you hate him?_  
  
For what he'd done to Scully, yes. For what he'd done to Lucy and taken from her, yes.  
  
But for the desperation and grief that had driven Peattie to do what he did... no, no, Mulder couldn't hate him for that. Mulder understood him because of that. He understood the grief that drove Peattie, the madness that came with the anger, the filtered screen that turned everything you saw into a reason to blame, a reason to hate... a reason to kill.  
  
"In some ways, yes," Mulder said, "but I can understand why he did it."  
  
Lucy jerked as if she was stung in his arms, pushing him away. "You understand?" she hissed. "You _understand_?! He killed them! God, he stole my family!"  
  
Just because he understood, didn't mean he condoned it, or accepted it.  
  
"I understand him because he's human, Lucy," he said firmly. "He was human, and he was hurt. He couldn't stand his own guilt, so he blamed your father, and the only way to hurt your father the way he hurt was to take what was closest to him. Your family."  
  
She started crying then, holding onto him with white fingers that dug into his skin. "Then why did he leave me?"  
  
Because, he thought silently as he rocked her on his feet, you were the daughter he lost.

o0o

Hands in his pockets, Mulder leant casually against the door frame and watched as she cautiously moved around the small room.  
  
"I know you're there, Mulder," she told him, carefully picking up her hair brush and patting her hands across the bed as she searched for her bag.  
  
"How'd you know?" he asked her, stepping closer.  
  
She turned to him briefly, a brief sparkle of humour touching her lips. "I _smelt_ you," she said gleefully, before turning back to the bed.  
  
He chuckled, and moved the bag so that she could find it.  
  
"Quit it, Mulder," she snapped, yanking the bag towards her. "I don't need help, I can do it."  
  
"I know," he said softly. "I was just helping."  
  
She sighed. "I'm sorry," she apologized.  
  
"It's okay, Scully." She flinched when he touched her shoulder, fear flitting over her face for a brief second. "Scully?"  
  
"I... I wasn't expecting..." she stammered, her fingers tightening over the brush she still clutched.  
  
She flinched again when he framed her face in his hands, forcing her sightless white eyes to stare blankly into his chest. "Scully, it's me," he said gently, brushing the soft skin of her cheeks with his fingers.  
  
"I know," she whispered, closing her eyes from him. "I know."  
  
He pulled her into a hug, but her body was stiff and unyielding against him. She didn't protest against his comfort, but she didn't accept it either. He sighed and let her go. "Peattie died half an hour ago, Scully."  
  
Her only acknowledgement of his words was a slight stiffening of her shoulders before she shoved her brush into her bag.  
  
"Lucy Wieder's staying with a friend of the family," he continued.  
  
"Does she know?" Scully asked.  
  
"What? That you're blind or that Peattie died?"  
  
"Whichever," she said, matching his casual tone.  
  
"She knows what Peattie did to you-"  
  
"You can't prove that it was Peattie, Mulder."  
  
"Lucy saw it, Scully! She _saw_ Peattie dig the knife into the doll, she held her father while he died!"  
  
Her jaw was pulled tight, a familiar expression of anger and annoyance. She didn't believe him. She never believed him.  
  
"How else can you explain it, Scully?" he demanded roughly. "Your eyes... it's unnatural, Scully."  
  
The fear flickered across her face for a brief instant. "You've mentioned my eyes before," she said softly. "What... what is it?"  
  
"No one told you?"  
  
"No."  
  
He stared down at her white eyes. "They're... there's no colour in them, Scully. Nothing."  
  
She licked her lip, her only unconscious concession to emotional turmoil. "It can't be true, Mulder."  
  
"Why not?" he demanded. "You've seen things before, things that your science can't explain but that you _know_ exist."  
  
"It can't be true, Mulder," she repeated firmly. "I can't let it be true, because if it is true... if it is..."  
  
"Then what? Your science is wrong?"  
  
"No," she shook her head. "If it's wrong then we can't fix it, and I can't live with that right now."  
  
The world shattered around him and everything fell into place with startling clarity. She was _blind_. Blind. This wasn't something he could just _fix_, no matter how hard he wished. Dana Scully was blind. And with blindness she was not only stripped of her sight, her career... her life, but to a large degree, her independence. This wasn't cancer, which they could ignore and deny and fight and defeat. This was startling in its invasiveness and its cruelty.  
  
"Scully," he said helplessly.  
  
"No, Mulder."  
  
Even as her world crumbled around her, she wouldn't give in. Not to emotion, not to fear, not to comfort... not to him.  
  
The metallic grate of the zipper on her bag rent through the air. "Can I borrow your sunglasses?" she asked casually. He pulled them out of his pocket soundlessly and handed them over, watching as she opened them carefully and slowly positioned them over her face. "Thank you," she said. "I'm ready now."  
  
He didn't cry, simply because she wouldn't let him.

o0o

_i see skies of blue  
and clouds of white  
the bright blessed day  
the dark sacred night_

__o0o  
  
Calm, collected, logical, intelligent, diligent, stubborn, determined, honest, dutiful... The words taunted her. Mocked her. For as long as she could remember, those words had been used to describe her. Countless report cards praised her resourceful determination. Soft words hidden behind adult hands as they watched her capable mind solve problems, thinking she couldn't hear their remarks. Their praise had stoked the fire; independence was a worthy cause, and she had dedicated her life to succeeding.  
  
She had succeeded. Succeeded in creating herself a personality that was stronger than steel and as unbending. A moral code framed a direct approach to life: problems you ran from only grew bigger and harder to deal with. Tackle things head on, Starbuck, and you'll come out on top every time.  
  
But now she wanted to run. She wanted to close her eyes and ignore the sudden blankness in her future. She couldn't see ahead of her, literally and figuratively. It was all gone; all of it. How could she work at the FBI if she couldn't even see her way in through the front doors? Or read the case reports? Or watch Mulder's slide shows?  
  
Mulder moved on his seat next to her, uncharacteristically on edge for this high altitude. She had always been envious and slightly confused by Mulder's ability to be so completely relax during flights, spreading out across seats and making himself right at home. Today though, he was tense and stiff. The soft clicking of the radio station being changed echoed loudly; she could almost hear the odd snippets drifting out from his headset.  
  
She did close her eyes and leant her head back against her seat, oddly relaxed. Soon they'd land in DC. Skinner would want a report - she wasn't sure what she was going to say. She'd be given mandatory medical leave while they tried to find out what was wrong with her. She'd be shuttled into the care of her over-frantic mother by an equally over-frantic Mulder who would refuse to believe she was still capable of looking after herself. And then would come the day when they told her they didn't know what was wrong with her eyes, why she couldn't see, and so the Bureau would dismiss her and she would be left with nothing except a tired mother who would latch onto the excuse to keep her close.  
  
The anger was slow and warm as it boiled in her belly.

o0o  
  
"I didn't call your mother," Mulder said abruptly.  
  
She was clinging to his arm tightly.  
  
_I was powerless._  
  
She could hear the crowds around her, feel their busy movements, smell their urgency, but she couldn't see. All she had was Mulder's arm, and she clung to that desperately, uncaring about her professional appearance.  
  
"Scully?"  
  
"I wasn't listening," she lied.  
  
"Your mother. I didn't call her."  
  
"Why should you have called her?" Scully asked calmly as Mulder guided them to a relatively quiet area, stopping next to a wall.  
  
"Because... you're not staying by yourself, Scully."  
  
"Why?" she asked him simply.  
  
"Because."  
  
"Because I'm blind? Does that make me incapable of staying by myself, Mulder?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She let go of his arm, jamming her shaking hands into the pockets of her coat. "I don't want you to call her."  
  
She heard him sigh, could picture him rubbing at his head with his hands. "Scully," he breathed out, his frustration covering his anxiety. She'd never realized how many emotions Mulder was able to convey with a single word, how many fears and hopes he buried within his speech. It was a strange insight into a man she'd thought she'd known almost inside out.  
  
"Let's just go debrief Skinner first, and then you can take me home," she said calmly.  
  
"Debrief Skinner?" he asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes. That's protocol, isn't it, Mulder?"  
  
"It is," he agreed, "but-"  
  
"I am _not_ broken, Mulder, so stop treating me like I am."  
  
Sometimes she was amazed at how well she lied, not only to Mulder but to herself as well.

o0o

She unbuckled herself and stepped from the car without his assistance. As she waited for him to climb out and shut his door, she patted her pocket to check for her ID, not bothering to check that she had her gun. It was a comforting presence now, rather than the annoyance and constant irritation it had first been when she'd started wearing it.  
  
"Ready?" Mulder asked after his door slammed shut.  
  
One hand on the car, she carefully negotiated her way to the trunk, and waited for him there. "Thank you," she said as his scent filled her senses and the warm weight of his hand rested on the small of her back.  
  
"I'm right here," he reassured her.  
  
She'd hated games where they blindfolded her when she was younger. Always giggling and out of reach in the dark from outstretched finger tips. It hadn't helped that one day she'd fallen down some stairs and broken her arm, a result which left her with an intense dislike for anything that obscured her vision, even the dark.  
  
But Mulder guided her wonderfully, whispering 'stairs', pushing her through doorways first, opening them for her, never once letting the hand move from the small of her back. She trusted Mulder. Only Mulder.  
  
Kimberly's cheery voice greeted them both, ushering them into Skinner's office with her usual briskness.  
  
"Agents!" Skinner was surprised, Scully thought.  
  
"Afternoon, Sir," Mulder said easily, guiding her toward 'her' chair. She sat down quickly, her hands running over the surface before she lifted her head. "We're here for our debriefing," Mulder added.  
  
He said nothing about her 'condition', though doubtlessly Skinner already knew.  
  
Her assumption was correct. "I was under the impression that Agent Scully was... I received a call from one of the gentleman you worked with, who said Scully was in hospital because something happened to her eyes."  
  
"That would be correct, Sir," Scully said.  
  
Her voice sounded cool and polished to her own ears. Clinical.  
  
"Am I to take it the problem has cleared up?" Skinner's voice carried his frown remarkably well.  
  
Scully tightened her grip on the chair beneath her palms, the arm rest cold as it dug into her flesh. "No, Sir," she said.  
  
"Agent Scully?"  
  
"The doctors were unable to find anything wrong with Agent Scully," Mulder inserted, "but she is still unable to see."  
  
"You can't see anything at all?" Skinner questioned.  
  
"No, Sir. I'm blind."  
  
_I'm blind.  
  
If you could see your eyes, Scully.  
  
I'm blind.  
  
I was powerless._  
  
"Is it permanent?" Skinner asked.  
  
_Powerless._  
  
"I don't know."  
  
The silence was thick. She could hear Mulder and Skinner breathing, the soft hiss of air whistling through their noses. The distant rumble of traffic. The electronic hum of computers. Muffled footsteps outside Skinner's office. Ambient sound, she thought aimlessly. Sounds you normally discard, Chuck had said. Everything resonates. There is music in everything.  
  
"Agent Scully?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Sir, I didn't hear the question."  
  
"I asked what your plans were."  
  
Plans?  
  
"I... I'm not sure yet, Sir. I've been given the name of specialist here in DC, and I've got an appointment scheduled with him tomorrow. Hopefully we can-" She stopped.  
  
"I'm putting you on medical leave," Skinner spoke once it was clear she wasn't going to continue. "Fully paid. Any costs covered by the Bureau."  
  
"Sir-"  
  
"No, Scully, that's final. Mulder, I want you in here tomorrow when Scully has her appointment with the specialist. You can give me your report then, and after that you're on a week of leave as well."  
  
"Sir, I don't need Mulder to babysit me," she interjected sharply.  
  
She could feel Skinner and Mulder staring at her, and it made her uncomfortable. Exposed. They could see her, but she could see nothing.  
  
"I'm aware of that, Agent Scully," Skinner said slowly. "But I'm also aware that you can't drive yourself to your appointments, the grocery store or anywhere for that matter. You will need someone to help you adjust. Once you've adjusted I have no doubts about your capabilities."  
  
_Once you've adjusted.  
_  
"Sir, I can take Scully to her Mother, and then-"  
  
"No!" Scully shook her head. "No, I don't need either of you to arrange my living arrangements for me." She rose to her feet quickly, pushing the chair back.  
  
"Scully," Mulder called.  
  
_Once you've adjusted._  
  
She knew the general direction of Skinner's office, and headed to where she thought the door was. The corner of his desk banged hard into her hip, and she gasped in pain. "Easy!" Mulder. His hands were on her arms, holding her steady as she regained her balance.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow, Mulder." The finality in Skinner's tone wasn't to be argued with.  
  
Flushed with anger and embarrassment, Scully let Mulder lead her from Skinner's office like a child being led back to the classroom after a reprimand by the principal.

o0o

She hadn't let Mulder treat her like an invalid; she wasn't an invalid. Instead of clutching hold of his arm as she had at the airport, she'd simply clutched her bag. Her fingers had dug into the soft leather so hard she could feel her circulation leaving her fingertips. But she hadn't loosened her grip. Rather than wait for him to lead her to her home, she'd shuffled across the sidewalk until the tips of her toes had bumped into something solid.  
  
"Go right, Scully," Mulder had called.  
  
Cheeks flaming, she reached out and felt the metal fence, running her hands along it, following it as it curved around the walkway and up the stairs that led to the interior of her apartment complex. Here it was easy; she'd walked straight in through the front door, hand slightly in front of her, until her palm hit the wall.  
  
He caught up with her at her front door while she was fumbling with her keys.  
  
"See?" she asked him pointedly.  
  
Mulder only grunted, the sound followed by the dull thud as their bags hit the ground. Seconds later she felt his fingers brush her hand, and she relinquished the keys to him silently. The soft draft of air caused by the movement of the door brushed over her face, but she didn't move.  
  
"Scully?" he questioned hesitantly.  
  
"I... I can't remember," she said.  
  
"Remember what?" he asked gently. Damn him for being so understand. So gentle. So caring.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
She was scared, not forgetful. Scared of stepping into her apartment and falling over a couch. Of walking into a table. Of knocking something over. Of losing herself in her own house.  
  
"Come on," he said, and his hand was back at the base of her spine, gently guiding her forwards.  
  
Her heels clipped sharply against the hardwood floor; the air felt light around her. They stopped, she guessed, in front of her couch.  
  
"Well, here are," Mulder said. "I'll go get our bags."  
  
"Our?" she asked sharply.  
  
"Scully, you can't stay by yourself," he said patiently. "Either I stay, or I call your Mom. It's your choice."  
  
And what a choice she had. Why couldn't she have other friends? Someone other than Mulder, who she didn't have to act so strong in front of. Who she didn't have to keep on her guard for. Who didn't know her so perfectly they knew what she was thinking.  
  
Damn Mulder for being Mulder.  
  
"You better call for take out too," she relented with a sigh. "I'm not cooking tonight."

o0o

_the colours of the rainbow  
so pretty in the sky  
are also on the faces  
of people goin' by_

__o0o  
  
Always a light sleeper, he was fully aware of when Scully woke up. The sun had barely risen, and the light filtering in through the apartment window was still watery and grey, a pre-dawn battle between sun and moon. Twisting on the couch, and closing his eyes again, Mulder was content to doze, keeping a lazy ear on Scully's movements from the room next door.  
  
Content, until he heard a shattering crash, followed by a deathly silence.  
  
"Scully?" he yelled, barely feeling the cold hardwood beneath his feet as he flew to her door.  
  
"I'm fine, Mulder."  
  
Anger was present on her voice, he decided. No, not anger, fury. Rage. Frustration. White-hot emotion. Anger was far too tame a word to describe her mood.  
  
"Can I come in?" he asked, almost hoping she'd say no. He didn't really want to face Scully in this mood; he was a coward.  
  
"I... I don't need help, Mulder."  
  
"I heard something break, Scully. Are you sure you're okay?"  
  
"I'm _fine_, Mulder."  
  
"What broke?"  
  
"Would you just leave it?" she snapped, her voice still muffled behind the closed door.  
  
"Scully, what happened in there?" No, he didn't know when to give in, did he?  
  
"Mulder!" The frustration tempered by a slight tone of defeat.  
  
Defeat? Scully was never 'defeated'. She never let him 'defeat' her. She was resigned, sometimes exasperated. Often let him 'win' just to get him to shut up or give in... but never defeated. Even cancer hadn't defeated her.  
  
"Scully?" There was quiet in her room now; she wasn't answering him anymore. "Scully, I'm going to come in, okay?"  
  
When she didn't answer him, he pushed the door open slowly, peering cautiously into her room. She was sitting on her bed, hands tucked under her thighs and head hanging down so that he couldn't see her eyes. And to his disgust, he felt some measure of relief that he couldn't see her eyes.  
  
"I don't know what I broke," she whispered softly, kicking one dangling foot out slightly and letting it swing backwards and forwards like a pendulum. "I was trying to find my brush, and..."  
  
"Did you cut yourself?" he asked gently.  
  
"No." Her voice was lost; girlish. "What did I break, Mulder?"  
  
White porcelain shattered across the dark floor. It was a miracle she hadn't cut her feet as she'd moved back to her bed. "It looks like it was a bowl," he deduced. "It had hair pins in it, I think."  
  
"Shit," she hissed. "My Dad gave me that."  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized.  
  
"Stop apologizing, Mulder." She pushed up off the bed and rose to her feet.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked.  
  
"I'm going to clean it up."  
  
"No, you're not," he disagreed. "You might cut yourself."  
  
If her eyes weren't so empty and so white, her glare would have carved him into little tiny pieces. "I am an adult, Mulder, not a three year old."  
  
"Scully, just let me do it, okay?"  
  
He thought she was going to argue, but she surprised him by closing her eyes and sighing. "I'm going to have a shower," she said instead.  
  
"Okay," he agreed. "You'll be-"  
  
"I'll be _fine_, Mulder," she snapped impatiently. "I just need to get..." Realization dawned on her features, and he watched curiously.  
  
"Get what?"  
  
"My clothes," she said emptily. "I can't even pick out my clothes, Mulder." The bitterness surprised him; Scully wasn't one for bitterness.  
  
"I can pick," he said easily. Again, she glared at him, but she didn't argue, only shrugging her shoulders in defeat. "What do you want to wear?"  
  
"Whatever."  
  
It felt awkward opening Scully's wardrobe to see her jackets, shirts, skirts and pants hung neatly from hangers. Her shoes were also neatly lined up on the floor. To the side he located some jeans, found her a reasonably comfortable looking sweater and a T Shirt. Not usual Scully attire, but comfortable.  
  
She took the clothes soundlessly and pushed past him to a set of drawers where she pulled out some under garments. He was grateful she was blind then; she couldn't see him blushing.  
  
Her hand rested on the door knob to her bathroom, but she paused before entering, turning around to look for him in the room. Her gaze settled far to the right from him. "Thank you," she said softly.  
  
"Call me if you need anything," he said.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't even think about it, Mulder."  
  
He grinned as she shut the door behind her; maybe she'd be okay after all.

o0o

Aware that she couldn't see him, Mulder still found it hard to glance across at her openly, still feeling the need to hide his speculative glances from her. Her face was, as usual, schooled into its mask of calm, looking ahead as though she was watching the scenery pass.  
  
"I'm going to call my Mom," she said suddenly. He didn't reply, waiting for her to articulate what else was on her mind. "I don't.. I don't think its fair not to tell her," she said at last.  
  
"But?"  
  
She turned her blind gaze toward him as the car stopped next to the curb and he shut the engine off. "I don't want to stay with her, Mulder."  
  
"I didn't say you had to," he said easily.  
  
She sighed and faced forward again, not making any move to get out of the vehicle. "I'm going to tell her you're staying with me," she continued.  
  
"I am," he agreed.  
  
"No," she shook her head, "you can't stay with me, Mulder. I have to look after myself."  
  
"And you will," he said easily, "once you get used to it."  
  
She clenched her jaw. "But that's just it, Mulder, I don't _want_ to get used to it."  
  
They got out of the car, and she clung to his arm again as he led her into the building. He found it strange that sometimes she clung to him, terrified of the dark world around her, and other times she wouldn't let him touch her, even when she desperately needed the guidance.  
  
"Do you want me to stay?" he asked as they settled themselves in the reception.  
  
"No," she shook her head, "I'll be fine. You have to go meet with Skinner anyway."  
  
"He'll understand if I postpone, Scully."  
  
"I don't need you here, Mulder." The words were gentle, but they still stung.  
  
He rose stiffly to his feet, again grateful that she couldn't see the expression his face. "Call me when you're done," he said stiffly.  
  
"Mulder!" she called after him, but he didn't turn around or answer her.  
  
_I don't need you here, Mulder._  
  
And maybe that was the problem. She never needed him, or anyone for that matter.

o0o

Sitting at her kitchen table in silence with only the sound of forks scraping on ceramic plates between them was driving Mulder insane. He swallowed the last of his omelete, placed his fork neatly on his plate, and continued to watch her struggle with her meal.  
  
He hadn't considered before how difficult it was to eat with no eyesight. Her knife and her fork wandered cautiously over her plate, her brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully cut small chunks and attempted to lift them to her mouth. Often they fell from the fork, and she ended up with a mouth of greasy fork, but neither of them said anything; she didn't ask for his help and he didn't volunteer it.  
  
Finally, with half her omelete still scattered messily across her plate, she placed her knife and fork on the plate and pushed it forward until the dull ring of ceramic plates coming into contact with one another sounded through the air.  
  
"More?" Mulder asked.  
  
"No, thanks," she said softly.  
  
He gathered their plates and rose to his feet.  
  
"You don't have to do that, Mulder," she said.  
  
"I want to," he returned easily.  
  
She sighed. "Mulder..."  
  
"Scully, just let me do the damn dishes!" he snapped, turning to the sink.  
  
He heard her push her chair back and rise to her feet, and then nothing. Turning around, he saw she'd left the kitchen and was making her way to her lounge area, easily finding the couch and settling down onto it. Reassured, he turned back to his task of doing the dishes.  
  
Lost in a daze, his hands automatically raising the cloth and wiping the dishes dry, he was startled when Scully softly called his name right behind him. "Mulder?"  
  
The plate slipped from his fingers and fell gracefully to the floor, glass shards spraying coldly across his bare feet. In the silence, he could hear Scully's clock ticking in the lounge.  
  
"What was it?" she asked quietly.  
  
"A plate," he said apologetically. "Don't move, Scully, there's glass everywhere."  
  
"Mulder," she said again, and he looked up at her from where he was now crouching on the floor gathering the largest pieces of broken plate in his hands. "I... Leave it for now."  
  
Leaving the large pieces in a small bundle on the floor, he carefully picked his way across the glass. "Hold on," he warned her before carefully picking her up. She didn't complain as he carried her away from the danger zone, and then gently lowered her to her feet.  
  
She was standing in front of him, his one hand still resting on her shoulder. Without shoes, she hardly even came up to his shoulders. "I need to talk to you, Mulder," she said, not moving away from him. "About... about what I said today."  
  
He watched her, waiting.  
  
"Mulder?"  
  
"Go ahead," he said evenly.  
  
She licked her lips, and if she could see she was staring directly at his chest. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I... I didn't mean it, Mulder."  
  
He touched her chin lightly, lifting her face so he could look at her. Dark circles under her white eyes spoke of her worry and fear; the tight line of tension on her lips deprived her from smiling. "Scully," he said softly, letting his fingers trail along the soft skin of her jaw. So, so frail.  
  
Her hand reached up and took hold of his fingers, holding them tightly against her skin. "I lied," she whispered, closing her eyes. He watched as a single tear dampened her eyelashes and crept slowly down her cheek. "I do need you, Mulder. But I don't want to." The tear was warm and wet as it landed on his fingers. He wiped it away with his thumb, and pulled her close, resting his head on hers as she leant against him.  
  
"I know this is hard, Scully," he whispered against her hair, "and I know you hate not being able to do things, but you don't have to do everything."  
  
She pulled back from him, but her arms were still curled around his waist - he wondered when she'd put them there. "No, Mulder, you're wrong. I do have to do everything, otherwise it wins."  
  
He smiled, knowing she couldn't see it. "It's not going to win, Scully," he said firmly. "We'll fix it."  
  
She didn't believe him; even blind he could still see the resignation and tolerance in the face of his mulish desire to believe what he wanted to believe. But she wouldn't argue with him; she understood he needed to hold onto that hope until he could accept it. If he could accept it.  
  
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she stepped back. "I'm going to clean up that glass, Scully," he said, "and I think you should call your mother."  
  
A flicker of fear passed over her features, but she nodded determinedly. "I'll invite her around tomorrow," she agreed. "Will... will you be here?"  
  
"I'll always be here, Scully."

o0o

If Maggie Scully was surprised to see him opening her daughter's front door, her only indication of that surprise was the arching of an eyebrow, not unlike that of her daughter's eyebrow arching ability.  
  
"Scully's in the lounge, Mrs. Scully," he said, stepping back to let her in. "Would you like a drink?"  
  
"No thank you, Fox," she declined. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine, Mrs. Scully," he smiled at her. "What about you?"  
  
"I'm fine, dear," she returned politely. "Dana!" She smiled broadly when she saw her daughter sitting on the sofa.  
  
Eyes hidden once again behind Mulder's sunglasses, Scully offered a tentative smile. "Hi, Mom." Instead of getting up from the sofa, she simply held her arms out.  
  
The slight confusion on Mrs. Scully's face didn't deter her from accepting her daughter's offering of a hug and leaning down to it. "Is everything okay?" Mrs. Scully asked when she let go and stepped back, glancing with open curiously at Mulder and then back at Scully.  
  
"No, it's not," Scully whispered, her head turning to Mulder's direction.  
  
He wished she could see him so he could offer her a smile of encouragement.  
  
"What's wrong?" Mrs. Scully asked, immediately concerned.  
  
"Why don't you sit down?" Mulder interrupted, guiding Mrs. Scully to sit down next to Scully on her sofa.  
  
"Dana?"  
  
"Mom... Mulder and I were in California a few days ago, on a case," she started.  
  
"Yes, I know, you told me you were going."  
  
"While... While we were working, something happened."  
  
"Dana, are you going to tell me or hedge around it all day?" Mrs. Scully asked bluntly.  
  
Scully sighed, her breath whistling out between her lips. "I'm blind, Mom."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I'm blind. I can't see."  
  
Mrs. Scully stared blankly at her daughter. "What do you mean you're blind, Dana?" Scully simply pulled the glasses off, and Mrs. Scully gasped. "Dana! Oh God, what happened?"  
  
"I don't know," Scully admitted reluctantly. "We were in a safe house, and I was covering the door, when my eyes starting aching. Like a migraine. And then I couldn't see."  
  
Mulder watched silently as Mrs. Scully reached toward her daughter, brushing the fragile skin of her cheeks with weathered fingertips. "Oh, honey..." she breathed.  
  
"I'm okay, Mom," Scully said firmly. "Mulder's helping me adjust, and I'm seeing a specialist at the moment."  
  
"Is... is it permanent?"  
  
"We don't know." Scully reached up and took her Mom's hand in her own, holding it tightly. "We don't know what caused it, so there's nothing we can do about it to fix it. We're hoping that it's not permanent, and that it clears up by itself, but it doesn't look good."  
  
Sometimes he envied Scully's ability to turn everything emotional into a clinical matter. He knew he could never have explained a condition to someone so calmly, especially not if he were the one sitting blindly on a couch. Instead of them reassuring her, she was once again reassuring them.  
  
"I... I don't know..." Mrs. Scully started hesitantly.  
  
"I'm fine, Mom. I've had some time to get used to it-"  
  
"How long?" Mrs. Scully demanded.  
  
"A few days," Scully answered reluctantly.  
  
"And you're used to it?" Mrs. Scully questioned sharply. "Dana, this isn't something that you just _get used to_."  
  
"I'm well aware of that, Mom," Scully said dryly. "Like I said, Mulder's here and he's helping me-"  
  
"I don't think that's a good idea, Dana," Mrs. Scully said smoothly. "Not insulting Fox's ability to house keep, but you do need to eat decent food, and until you can do things for yourself-"  
  
"Scully's perfectly capable of doing things for herself," Mulder interrupted, watching two bright spots of colour burning angrily on Scully's cheeks. "We're getting along just fine, Mrs. Scully."  
  
Maggie Scully turned to him, and Mulder realized not for the first time where Scully got her grit and determination from. "I'm her Mother, Fox."  
  
"I know that, Mom," Scully soothed, "but Mulder's right. I need to learn to live with this, and I can't do that if you're going to baby me."  
  
"Dana," Mrs. Scully whispered, closing her eyes, "you're all I have left... Bill and Charlie aren't around... it's just you... and I worry," she whispered.  
  
"I know," Scully whispered as well, tugging on her Mom's hands and pulling her into a hug, "but I need you to be strong for me now, okay?"  
  
"Okay," Mrs. Scully agreed, her voice muffled against Scully's shoulder. "Don't shut me out, Dana. I need to be here."  
  
Scully swallowed deeply, closing her eyes in resignation. "I know, Mom. I'll need you too." The admission cost her a lot. She wriggled out of her Mother's hold, rising steadily to her feet. "I've already memorized my apartment," she said lightly. "Ask Mulder; I can find my way almost anywhere, without knocking everything over."  
  
"Usually," Mulder said dryly.

o0o

_i hear babies cry  
i watch them grow  
they'll learn much more  
than i'll ever know_

__o0o  
  
The rod in her hand ran smoothly over the pavement ahead of her. The jostling of the passing crowds was almost familiar, the unexpected and unseen touches and bumps received without the mind-numbing anxiety any sudden contact had brought at first.  
  
_Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three..._  
  
On cue, her hand jarred as the rod connected solidly with the fire hydrant. Two steps right. Three steps forward. Five steps right and bingo, the stairs to the apartment complex. The warming rush of pride filled her, and for a second she was happy. She'd found her way home, no hassles, third time in a row.  
  
"Evening, Agent Scully."  
  
"Evening, David," she returned easily. "Any mail for me today?"  
  
"No, none. Nothing for Agent Mulder either," the doorman added.  
  
"He doesn't live here, David," she said good naturedly.  
  
"Of course not," David agreed amicably, but she could hear the smile on his voice. Rolling her eyes she counted her steps toward the elevator, raised her hand and jabbed the button the first time round. "You're getting good at that," David commented.  
  
"Practice makes perfect," Scully parroted brightly, David's chuckle following her into the elevator.  
  
She was inserting the key into the lock when she realized it; she was adjusting. Her hand paused before she unlocked the door, contemplating in the darkness.  
  
Adjusting. Could she really adjust to this? Yes, she was coping fairly well. Yes, she was learning how to do things without the aid of sight, but was she really adjusting?  
  
The lock clicked open easily, and she entered her apartment, pausing on the threshold. Her apartment. Yes, it was her apartment. But she could smell Mulder's scent in her apartment. He wasn't here, she knew that, but when she opened the door she could pick out faint traces of his aftershave, and a faint scent that she knew was Mulder. She'd never been able to smell people before; maybe she had a possible career choice ahead of her as a sniffer dog.  
  
She chuckled slightly, but the bitterness in the laugh surprised her.  
  
Possible career choice. What possible career choice did a blind woman really have?  
  
What life did a blind woman really have?  
  
Fuck adjusting.

o0o

Mulder was tired when he got home - when did she start thinking of Mulder getting home to her apartment anyway?  
  
"Hey Scully," he called, and she heard the thump as he dropped his brief case on the wooden floor. A rustle indicated he was ditching his suit jacket, and the soft scuffs as he kicked off his shoes completed the ritual. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
The second of hesitation before he spoke again told her more clearly than she'd ever realized would be possible, that he was now aware of her foul mood and not entirely sure how to proceed. "How was your appointment?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
"Find your way home okay?"  
  
"I'm here, aren't I?"  
  
"What happened?" he asked instantly, and she felt a rush of anger that he could be concerned for her, which would make her feel less angry with him when she _wanted_ to feel angry at him.  
  
"Nothing. I got home fine," she repeated.  
  
She could hear him fidgeting now, the slight squeaking as his feet moved uneasily over the floor. "Would... would you like a drink?"  
  
"No, I just had one." It was times like now, when she was reveling in being a bitch, that she really missed her sight. Really missed being able to shut him out completely by either turning to her laptop or a novel. Being blind meant she had nowhere and nothing to run to, and that made her even angrier.  
  
"You know, if you want me to go I'll just go," he said suddenly.  
  
How did he do that? How could he just take the wind out of her sails so completely? How could she continue to be angry at him after telling him she didn't want him to leave? "Mulder," she sighed in annoyance, "why do you do that?"  
  
"What?" he asked, rather sharply.  
  
"Nothing," she sighed, getting up. "It's just me, Mulder."  
  
"Scully?"  
  
"Quit being so damn understanding!" she snapped.  
  
"You want to fight?" Mulder asked, and she was disgusted to hear laughter on his voice.  
  
"No!" she denied hotly.  
  
"Yes, you do," he retorted smugly. "Is it that time of the month, Scully?"  
  
"And you're accusing _me_ of wanting to fight?" she asked in disbelief. "That question is below the belt, Mulder."  
  
"Yes, it is," he agreed, still smug.  
  
"Mulder!" she ground out in frustration.  
  
"Scully!" Why was he so excited all of a sudden?  
  
"What?"  
  
"Look at me."  
  
"I'm trying to, though why I bother I don't know."  
  
His fingers grasped her chin and kept her face still. She hated being scrutinized by him so closely, hated him being able to stare at her face and pick it dry of emotions while she could see nothing except the emptiness and smell nothing except him.  
  
"I think it's going," he said softly.  
  
"What's going?" she asked, her voice equally soft.  
  
"The white. I think I can see your eyes again," he whispered. "Can you see?"  
  
"No. You're imagining things, Mulder."  
  
"No, I'm certain, Scully. Did your doctor say anything today?"  
  
She pulled away from his hand. "Mulder, it's not going away. This isn't going to spontaneously cure itself, and it isn't going to get better. It's been a month already, if anything's going to happen it would have happened by now."  
  
"I think you're wrong," he told her stubbornly. "They're getting bluer."  
  
She could live with his stubbornness, his inability to accept a situation and move on, his believing in causes she couldn't understand herself... but his insistence in something that simply wasn't there... she couldn't live with that. "Don't, Mulder," she said softly. "Don't do this. I can't handle this now."  
  
There was a bitter resignation to his voice. "I wish you could see it."  
  
She chuckled. "So do I, Mulder, so do I."  
  
He was strong and warm and solid and Mulder when he pulled her into his arms and held her, and as she'd been doing for the last month, she let him hold her. And sometimes his arms around her made her feel it was almost worth losing her sight, but it was only sometimes.

o0o

She opened the door to her apartment easily, slipping the keys back into her bag as was habit and absently stepping into the room. She stopped, waiting. Something was wrong.  
  
Like a deer she sniffed the air, the usual scents of home assailing her. Her perfume, the plants, the carpet cleaner she used, the very faint trace of Mulder's aftershave... And then she realized what it was.  
  
Smoke.  
  
Morley's smoke.

o0o

_and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world_  
  
FIN  
  
Lyrics stolen below (I used them shamlessly without permission)  
  
I see trees of green  
red roses too  
I see them bloom  
for me and you  
  
and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world  
  
i see skies of blue  
and clouds of white  
the bright blessed day  
the dark sacred night  
  
and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world  
  
the colours of the rainbow  
so pretty in the sky  
are also on the faces  
of people goin' by  
  
i can see friends shakin' hands,  
sayin' 'how do you do!'  
they're really sayin'  
i love you  
  
i hear babies cry  
i watch them grow  
they'll learn much more  
than i'll ever know  
  
and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world  
and i think to myself  
what a wonderful world  
  
David Weiss & Bob Thiele 


	2. i want

i want

**SUMMARY:** The shadows of the fire were warm as they played over her, and Scully let herself think of babies and colours and things that couldn't be.

**SPOILERS: **Quagmire.En Ami, Theef, Hollywood AD, Par Manum. Anything up to and including Requiem is fair game though :)

**AN: **Based around En Ami, but I've taken large liberties and twisted the episode rather completely. Sorry about that. More notes at the end ;)

This one goes out to Nic – for the dvds (on their way home soon, promise) – who offered nagging, unsolicited encouragement and blatantly false praise. You are too cool, dude. bunnylove

Also to Sel, who got me hooked on XF Fanfic, and intermittently through the excellent fic I found, hooked on the show itself, even though she doesn't watch. smooch

Also, it hasn't been beta'd (again), so if anyone out there is interested in beta'ing for me, I'd be very happy to hear from you!

* * *

The smoky Washington morning rolled across her senses like a bitter coffee, its taste lingering even when she closed the window. She knew outside the weak sunlight would be fighting a losing battle against the smog; the grey overcast morning would mute bright colours and highlight the shadows of the city. She knew the people walking past would all be wearing black coats and carry briefcases as their expensive shoes tapped a brisk rhythm on the uneven sidewalk. 

She wondered how many of those people knew where the sidewalk tilted slightly to the left, where the biggest cracks were, and where the large pavestones had lifted to cause a dangerous obstacle on the route of someone who couldn't see.

Perhaps later today it would rain; the air had felt damp against her face. When it rained she could smell the dust in the air as it mixed with the rain. Car tires would hum along the road on the slick surface, and brisk footsteps would be accentuated by the cold sound of water splashing in puddles.

Scully liked it when it rained.

Sighing, she moved swiftly to her closet, her fingers gliding across silks, linens and cottons as she identified each garment, carefully fingering the cotton stitches sewn in the labels. Her clothes for the day chosen and carefully laid out on a neatly made bed, she moved into the bathroom and took her shower.

When her mother arrived to pick her up an hour later, Scully was standing on the sidewalk, neatly dressed in a black suit with her hair impeccably styled and a briefcase clutched in one hand. Dark sunglasses hid her milky blue eyes from sight.

* * *

"I was reading an article a few days ago," her mother started, "about a new treatment being tried by a doctor in New York. I called his office and spoke to him, and while you're probably better at the technical side than I am, it sounds-" 

"No," Scully said softly. She turned her face away from her mother, as though she could see out of the car window she was now facing. She leant her cheek on the glass; it was cool against her hot skin.

"Dana?" her mother asked.

"I said no," Scully repeated firmly. She sighed and lifted her face from the window, letting her head fall back against the head rest. "I can't keep doing this, Mom."

"Doing what?"

"This," Scully said vaguely, waving a hand listlessly through the air. "It's been almost three months, and I can't keep trying to pretend everything's going to be okay. It's not going to be okay, Mom, and I have to accept that."

"You can't stop hoping, Dana," her mother responded softly.

"It's not a matter of hope, Mom. It's about facing the facts. Accepting that fact that I am now blind."

"It doesn't make any sense!"

"I know that." Once, that would not have satisfied a red headed young woman with a degree under her belt, badge in her pocket and gun in her hand. But that young woman was naïve and narrow minded, unable to accept what she could not understand.

"I don't understand, Dana."

Scully sighed, letting her fingers interlace on her lap where she could feel the warm fabric of her trousers beneath them. "Neither do I, Mom," she agreed softly. "But this is going to stop now. We're going to accept what's happened, and I'm going to get on with my life."

She knew her mother disagreed with her decision, but her mother knew her well enough not to argue. They continued on in silence, and Scully closed her eyes, feeling the gentle jerks and bumps as they navigated their way through the traffic.

* * *

Years of observing from the shadows had unfolded the woman before him. He'd seen her struggle time and time again. The stumbling blocks orchestrated by him were faced head on with a determination and a resolve that he had at first admired, and then come to envy. She, with her integrity and honor, her moral code, was far greater than him. However, moral code and integrity were really no match against darkness, secrecy and knowledge and he possessed all three. And he possessed what she desired most. 

Reclined back on her sofa, the thin thread of smoke from his weakness curled delicately through the air in front of him. He blew at it absently, watching it dissipate into nothingness, random molecules scattered into the vastness. He heard the soft jingle of keys, and slowly sucked in another mouthful of smoke, the acrid fumes slipping down his throat with ease. The door swung open and she stepped inside, stopping before she'd let go of the door handle.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice curt.

He admired the lack of fear. "Enjoying my cigarette," he said easily. "Please, do come in Agent Scully."

She raised her eyebrow, pale blue eyes staring emptily at the space to his right. "This is _my_ apartment, Spender," she said coldly.

"I haven't been called that in years," he commented. "Close the door, Dana, you're letting in a draught."

Her heels tapped firmly on the floor as she stepped aside. "I'm not closing the door until you get your ass out of my apartment."

"Now now, where are your manners?"

"I use manners on people, Spender, not monsters. Now get out."

He allowed a chuckle to escape, and watched her anger at his blatant mockery. "You're in a hurry. Don't you even want to hear what I have to say?"

"No," she said flatly.

"Pity," he shrugged. "I know how to get what you want."

She hesitated, and he allowed a small smile of satisfaction to touch his lips; after all, she couldn't see it. "Get out."

"You could have it, Agent Scully, that which you want most. A cure to cancer, disease. A cure for everything. You could hold it in your hands and use it to get what you want."

"You're lying," she said flatly. Yes, he knew she was skeptical. He knew she was obstinate. He knew she wouldn't believe or trust him. Yet.

"On the contrary, what would I gain from lying to you?"

The question surprised her, and she considered it carefully, her brow furrowed in thought. He raised his cigarette to his lips again and inhaled slowly, savoring it. "No," she said finally, "I think the question I have to ask is what you could gain from telling me this in the first place."

He smiled; she didn't disappointment after all. "I'm a dying man, Agent Scully."

"If you have the cure to everything, why don't you use it then?" she asked spitefully.

"I'm an old man, Dana, not just a dying one," he said ruefully. "I have nothing to show for my age either. My family - what I had of a family - is dead, my life's work is in ruins. No one even knows my real name."

Compassion. That was Scully's weakness, always showing compassion.

"Assuming all this is true, what would you gain from giving me this technology?" she asked carefully. Considering his words now, allowing them to bear weight and gain solidity in her mind.

"I've watched you for years, you know," he said honestly. "You're a good person."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, a bitter chuckle of disbelief shattering the air between them. "So what? You're developing a conscience?"

"No," he said amicably. "No, I just want to see something good happen because of me, before I die."

She sighed, shifting her weight and jiggling the door handle she still clutched with one hand; his time was up and her patience was gone. "So what is it you want, Spender?" she asked again.

"Consider it, Dana. I can give it to you."

"Where's the catch?" she asked cynically.

"I give it to you, and you alone."

The smile that tugged her lips was knowingly bitter. "So you don't want me to tell Mulder about your visit," she deduced easily.

"That's why I like you, Dana, you understand how the game's played."

Her eyes narrowed. "This isn't a game, Spender, and I'm not playing."

His shoes were noiseless as he moved across the floor to her. "Think about it," he said softly, casually strolling out of her home.

* * *

It still stank. The burnt stench was embedded into her furniture, her floors… her air. Trying to ignore the constant assault on her delicate sense of smell, Scully slipped off her sofa and settled on the floor in front of her coffee table. Once she had considered the surface of her coffee table smooth, the wood buffed and polished to an almost glasslike smoothness. Now when she ran her fingers over the grainy tabletop she could feel the grain of the wood beneath them, her fingertips tracing knots and twists that the fine buffing failed to hide from her touch. 

Opening a thick book with a disgusted sigh, she let her fingers slowly run over the page in front of her. But she couldn't concentrate on the small pinpricks, couldn't find the effort or desire to decipher each letter from the markings on the page.

She heard keys in her door, and pushed the book away, climbing quickly to her feet and facing the direction of the door, as though she could confront whoever was entering her apartment. The door swung open, and she knew it was Mulder.

"Hey," he called out, "I bought you some food, Scully."

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you cook or did you buy?"

"Bought, Scully. Can't you smell the Chinese?" he teased gently.

And when he said the words, she realized he was right. "Smells great," she said simply. "I'll get the plates."

She knew he watched her as she moved across the floor, easily negotiating her way through her apartment. These days she hardly even had to count her steps. The mental map she visualized was almost second nature by now, and he'd come to respect that. Just as she had.

Locating two plates from her cupboard, and finding two wine glasses, she moved back to the coffee table where she put down the crockery and picked up her books.

"How's the reading going?" he asked conversationally. His shoes squeaked faintly on the wooden floor, and she tracked his progress to the kitchen where she knew he was getting the wine.

"It's not," she sighed, placing the books on the floor next to the sofa and making a mental note to remember she'd put them there. "I don't know if I'll even enjoy reading again," she added, sighing sorrowfully.

"There's always audio cassettes," he reminded her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Or I could read to you," he volunteered.

"Sure, Mulder," she chuckled. "When was the last time you read a book that _wasn't_ science fiction or related to conspiracies?"

"A long time ago," he agreed.

She smiled as she sat herself on the sofa, knowing he'd dish up without her asking him too. It was much neater and safer having him dole out Chinese food. It was a lot neater and safer to let him do a lot of things for her. She sighed, pulling her feet up and resting her chin on her knees.

"That sounded serious," Mulder commented, the sofa dipping beneath his weight. "Here."

She crossed her legs and accepted the plate of food. "Dig in."

She relaxed into his company, pulling his familiarity and safety around her like a warm blanket, wrapping her away from the dark scent of the monster who had graced her with his presence. And even as she pushed him to the back of her mind, deliberately ignored the knowledge he had offered her, she felt the curious tendrils of supposition and 'what if' lick at her conscience.

What if he was telling the truth.

What if he held the cure.

What if she could see again.

What if.

* * *

"I never did thank you," she said abruptly, almost imagining she could see the flames flickering in the hearth as they popped and spluttered. It was too warm for a fire, she thought idly, but the wood smoke overpowered the stench of Morley's, and she liked the gentle chatter of the fire in the background. 

"For what?" Mulder asked.

"For trying to give me a baby," she said softly, relieved that she didn't have to meet his eyes as she uttered the words.

He was quiet next to her, and the silence made her uncomfortable. Once she would have read the thoughts in his eyes and watched his silent speech as he moved his restless fingers in an elegant pattern on his legs. Now there was only silence, the hissing of the flames and the whispers of their breath.

"I didn't say thank you for asking me," he returned eventually, sounding far away. "I'm sorry it didn't work, Scully," he said sincerely.

His hand snaked out of the darkness and rested lightly on her own, his skin warm and rough against hers. She curled her fingers between his, resting her head against the back of the couch. His fingers squeezed hers gently, and she smiled sadly.

"So I am, Mulder," she whispered.

The shadows of the fire were warm as they played over her, and Scully let herself think of babies and colours and things that couldn't be.

_

* * *

_

Accept what's happened and get on with my life.

They were brave words, Scully thought dryly, letting her fingers run across her desk again. Brave words for a woman who was holding onto the shreds of her dignity with desperate fingers. But alone in her apartment the dignity was an empty comfort, and her options were spread too thin before her.

She was blind, and there simply weren't a whole lot of opportunities out there for blind women. What use was an agent if she couldn't see who she was aiming her gun at? What use was a forensic pathologist if she couldn't see what she was slicing with her scalpel?

What use was someone who couldn't see?

Scully sighed and let her head rest in the cradle of her hands, aimlessly massaging her scalp with over sensitive fingers.

There was a slight thump outside her apartment door, a footstep maybe, and she paused, ceasing the motion of her fingers and raising her head warily. Another muffled thump shivered through the floor, and then the noise disappeared.

She rose to her feet and opened the door. The air smelt like Morley's.

Beneath her socked foot she felt something slide on the hardwood floor, and she bent to pick it up. A stiff piece of card with hard edges and several tiny bumps in a corner. Scully shut the door before she let her fingers examine the card further, rubbing carefully over the small pricks. They felt familiar, and she struggled to concentrate.

Numbers.

A phone number.

I have what you want.

What I want.

Her mouth was dry like cotton, and she fingered the card.

What I want.

* * *

Someone cool and level headed. A planner. Someone who considered all the options and made the right decision accordingly. 

Scully wondered if her latest decision would fit into the category she'd been filed into since her toddler days. She simply wasn't someone who acted spontaneously or made rash decisions. She followed her head rather than her heart.

Someone who did the right thing for the right reasons, not for a personal desire or selfish wishes.

She picked up the phone and dialled the Bureau, waiting until it was answered and she was transferred.

"Hi, Holly, this is Dana Scully," she said brightly.

"Dana! How are you?" Holly chirped just as brightly, but with her new sense of sight Scully could see the transparent colours in Holly's tone and read the dark pity as easily as she had once read her own name.

"I'm doing well," Scully responded smoothly. "I was hoping you could do something for me," she added.

"Sure, Dana, what is it?"

"I have an appointment with a new specialist, and I only have his phone number. I can't look up his address in the phonebook…" Scully trailed off, deliberately leaving the words unspoken. She felt no remorse over wilfully using her disability as a manipulation.

"Oh…" Holly said. "If you have his number, I can get his address for you," she offered.

Scully smiled; no one would ask a blind woman why she didn't simply phone the doctor himself and get his address. "That would be great," she said instead, "the number is (202) 555-1030."

Ten minutes later, she was in a cab heading toward an address burnt into her memory, wondering if she had made the right decision.

* * *

They had told him she had arrived the minute she had stepped out of the cab and onto the footpath. He had watched her progress from his window, noting when she asked the driver for direction he simply got out to guide her. People wanted to help her, he thought to himself as she walked with the driver up the path. 

He sat at his desk, waiting until his door opened and she was led into the room, her sightless eyes hidden behind the dark glasses she had taken to wearing.

"You surprise me," he said to her, rising to his feet.

"Why?" she asked him, her voice even and controlled.

"I didn't expect you to make your decision quite so soon," he admitted.

"But you did expect me to make it," she answered.

He shrugged, but she couldn't see the gesture. "Take a seat, Agent Scully," he offered, not moving to help her find a seat.

She found it quickly, running her hands along the back of it and following the armrest until she had seated herself in front of his desk, feet neatly tucked together and her back straight. "What do I have to do?" she asked bluntly.

He lit a cigarette, drawing in the dry smoke and blowing it out slowly, watching the distaste cross her features as the smoke curled over her. "Come with me," he said simply.

"Where?"

He sucked in another lungful, holding it for a second and expelling it with a slight cough. "To find what you want. It will take a few days."

"You're not going to tell me."

"No. You're going to have to trust me."

She chuckled mirthlessly, and he was pleased to see she hadn't lost her sense of humour. "I still don't understand why you're doing this," she said.

"There are a lot of things you don't understand," he said simply. "In the end, a man finally looks at the sum of his life to see what he'll leave behind. Most of what I worked to build is in ruins. Now that the darkness descends, I find I have no real legacy."

The smoke hung thick in the air between them, and he watched her masked face in the muted light. "What are you dying of?" she asked clearly.

"Cerebral inflammation, due to brain surgery I had in the fall."

Even with her carefully controlled features and her blank eyes, he could still see the struggles flitting across her face. The yearnings and the fears, not discernable unless you knew to look for the small movements of her lips as she considered the options.

"If you have this technology," she said carefully, "why not just give it to me now?"

"The genetic knowledge behind this technology is closely guarded. There are people in this building that would kill me if they knew what I offered you, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill you too." He paused, still studying her. "I want to make things right, Agent Scully," he said softly, moving back to his desk crushing the cigarette in the ash tray. "I've destroyed a lot of things in my life, including the people most precious to me. All I want is a chance to do something in service to man before I go. If you want, Agent Scully, you better decide now, because when we leave we're not turning back."

Uncertainty pulled her lips into a tight line. "Can I see Mulder before we leave?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "You'll see him when we return."

She only hesitated a second. "If we're going somewhere, I'll need to get some clothes."

He nodded and smiled, squashing his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. "That won't be a problem," he said easily. "If you're ready, Agent, Scully," he announced. This time when she rose to her feet, he moved toward her and offered her his arm. She took it silently, resting a light hand on his forearm as he led her forward.

Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.

* * *

Friday night was pizza night. And despite Scully's protests about cheese and calories and expanding like a blimp, Mulder knew that secretly Scully enjoyed pizza night. He could watch her openly now, and he felt a guilty tug at his taking advantage of her disability, but that didn't stop him from watching her while she ate. He would smile in amusement as she fought against the stringy cheese that refused to break no matter how far she pulled the slice from her mouth. He was secretly amazed at how adept she was at picking the pineapple off the pizza even though she couldn't see what she was pulling off. Sometimes she pulled off the pepperoni and gave that to him too, and he didn't tell her because it was his joke. 

The pizza was hot in the box, almost burning his hand through the cardboard as he knocked on Scully's door. She didn't answer, and he knocked again, juggling the box to his other hand before the heat became unbearable. Still, she didn't answer.

"Scully?" he called, knocking again.

The pizza smelt thick and rich, grease turning the cardboard soggy and sour. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he placed the box on the hallway floor and dug in his pocket for the key to her apartment. It slid into the lock neatly and the door opened with a small click.

"Scully?" he asked, looking around. The lights were off, but that was usual these days. Scully had no need for lights anymore. "You home, Scully?"

He picked the pizza up and moved inside, placing it on the kitchen counter before moving further into her apartment.

Maybe she was at her mother's, he thought, frowning. But it was Friday night, and Friday night was pizza night which Scully knew. He pulled out his cell phone and called Scully's phone. It was turned off. He dialled Mrs. Scully's number quickly, forgetting about the pizza growing cold behind him.

"Hi Mrs. Scully, it's Fox Mulder here," he said when she answered the phone.

"Good evening, Fox," Mrs. Scully said politely. "Is everything okay?"

"I was wondering if you know where Dana is?" he asked.

"She should be at home," Mrs. Scully responded calmly. "She might be sleeping or having a bath and didn't hear you call."

"Okay, thanks Mrs. Scully," Mulder said evenly. "I'll try her again later."

"Call me if there's a problem, Fox."

"There isn't a problem, Mrs. Scully," Mulder lied. "She's probably just taking a long bath."

He heard Mrs. Scully chuckle lightly, but there was an undertone of concern in the laugh. "Good night, Fox."

"Night, Mrs. Scully."

* * *

"Her mother says she should be at home," Mulder said tightly. "She should be at home, Sir." 

"Mulder, for you all you know she could be out having dinner with friends," Skinner sighed.

"Sir," Mulder hedged, looking around Scully's apartment again. Neat and tidy and empty.

"You said there isn't any sign of foul play, nothing's missing, and you haven't seen Scully since Wednesday. That doesn't mean something's wrong, Mulder."

Mulder ground his teeth in frustration, pacing across the living room floor. A small white card was lying on the coffee table. "Hold on, Sir," he said suddenly, reaching for it. "I found something."

"What?" Skinner asked, aggravation seeping into his tone.

"A card," Mulder said thoughtfully. "I think there's something written on it, but I can't read it, it's in Braille. I've got to go, Sir."

He only heard Skinner's patronising "Mulder" before he hung up, staring intently at the empty white card with the tiny pinpricks.

Scully's computer was sitting unobtrusively on its desk where it had always been, unused for several months now. He sat in front of it, turned it on, and logged onto the internet. Several minutes later, he found what he was looking for, deciphering the holes in the card and scribbling down the digits.

A solitary phone number.

He stared at the number for a second, and then pulled out his cell phone again.

"Langley, it's me," he snapped into the phone when it was answered.

"Mulder, hey!" Langley proclaimed. "We were just about to call you!"

"About what?" Mulder asked, absently clicking on the email icon.

"Byers found evidence of-"

"Wait," Mulder interrupted, watching as the email account logged in, "while you talk can you look up an address and person for me?"

"Sure," Langley agreed easily.

Mulder read the number to Langley, frowning as he stared at Scully's inbox. Langley continued to babble, but Mulder ignored him, navigating through Scully's email.

"… so Frohike thought if we combined the accelerant with-"

"This can't be right," Mulder said suddenly.

"What?" Langley questioned.

"I think someone's been using Scully's email," Mulder said. "Several have been opened since after she lost her sight."

"Mulder, wouldn't her mother do that?" Langley pointed out.

"She would, if Maggie Scully were computer literate and Scully were inclined to let her look into her private emails," Mulder agreed.

"What are you doing in Scully's email?" Langley demanded suspiciously.

"Investigating," Mulder said. "Do you have that address and name for me yet?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, it's come up blank, Mulder. Disconnected. No address, no contact name, nothing."

Mulder swore into the phone.

"What's going on, Mulder?" Langly asked seriously.

"I'm not sure, but I think Scully's in trouble," Mulder said grimly.

The pizza was cold, and the rubbery smell of oily cheese was starting to fade. Now that he was looking for it, Mulder could easily smell the Morley's taint that clung to Scully's apartment.

* * *

They had driven for what felt like hours, stopping only briefly while the sun was still warm in the sky to have coffee with a woman who claimed to be over a hundred years old. Scully had heard the woman's voice; it had been clear and easy, not a weathered voice fragile with age. 

She ached with exhaustion and fear, the silence in the car only compounded by the darkness of her mood.

"If you have this amazing cure," she said suddenly, "why not use it yourself?" she demanded.

"I was wondering when you would ask me," he said instead, and the wheels devoured the road beneath them, casting Scully further and further into the web being woven.

"Well?" she prodded.

"I am an old man, Doctor Scully," he said, his voice tired. "I've watched presidents die and directed wars. I always planned to be a writer."

The confession surprised her, confusing her. "Why not use the cure yourself?" she persisted.

He sighed, and she heard the breath wheeze in his lungs. Old lungs, black and rotted by smoke as his soul was rotted by evil. "There is a time and a place for everything, Agent Scully, and my time is almost over." His words were emphasised by the sound of a lighter and the thick smell of smoke filling the car.

"You're going to smoke?" Scully demanded incredulously.

He was silent for a second, and then she felt a distinctive breeze against her cheeks as he wound down the window, winding it up seconds later. "It's time I quit," he said simply, and she realised the thick smell of burning tobacco had disappeared somewhat.

"Just like that?" she questioned doubtfully.

"No sacrifice is purely altruistic. We give expecting to receive."

"What exactly do you expect to receive?" she questioned.

"Trust," he said again.

Scully couldn't help the derisive snort as she turned her head away from him.

"You question my sincerity. You think I'm heartless. Would it soften your opinion of me if I confess I've always had a particular affection for you?" His words were delivered with their usual understated clarity, and she stiffened slightly, shocked. "I assure you, my intentions are honourable. Affection for Mulder too. Affection for you is special. I held your life in my hands. Your cancer was terminal and I had a cure. Can you imagine what that's like?"

His words spread a chill across her body and her mouth turned dry, but he continued, almost whispering to her. "To have the power to extinguish a life or to save it. Now to give you that power, so you can do the same."

She swallowed silently, staring into the emptiness. Was this what she wanted? This power he spoke of, that he only hinted at? The magnitude of what he told her was unbelievable, and Scully wasn't sure if she was entirely convinced of his claims.

Yet she had felt Margery's scar from the implant she'd received. There'd been a boy in Goochland barely two days before all of this had started that Spender now laid claim too… was it true? Could he deliver what he promised?

And why?

* * *

Mulder had fallen asleep on the couch, only waking when the sound of someone putting a key into Scully's lock startled him. He jumped to his feet expectantly, crossing the floor quickly to meet Scully as she entered the room, unable to discern whether it was anger, relief or joy coursing through his body at the knowledge that she was safe. 

He'd decided it was a mixture of all three, when he realised it wasn't Scully.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pulling his gun on the man in a smooth motion.

The man stared back, clearly terrified. "Uh… I live one floor down…" the man admitted, staring at the gun. A thin film of sweat had appeared on his balding forehead. "Dana asked me to water the plants today, when she left yesterday, she said she didn't know when she was getting back."

Mulder returned the weapon to his holster, stepping toward the man and fishing in his pocket for his I.D. "Sorry," he apologised, waving his badge at the man. "I'm Scully's partner, and I was worried about her. Did she mention anything at all to you about where she was going?"

"Not specifically, no," the man shook his head, looking relieved. "I think she's planning to be away for a few days though, going by the size of the bag her driver carried out of here."

"Her driver?" Mulder asked incredulously.

"Yeah, tall guy. Smokes like a chimney. I've seen him around a few times before though."

Mulder swore again, and pushed past Scully's neighbour rudely, pulling his cell phone from his pocket as he ran down the hallways.

The Gunmen had better have some information on Scully's whereabouts, or God help them.

* * *

Scully woke in a bed with thick pillows and scented sheets. She frowned, feeling the sun on her face, and sat up in confusion. Pushing the covers away, her fingers encountered unfamiliar fabrics and blankets. 

Where was she?

She was still wearing stockings, she realised as she slipped her legs out of the bed, and they prevented her from curling her toes around the thick rug she stepped onto as she stood up. It was quiet and still; no traffic hummed outside.

Soft sounds of cutlery against crockery reached her through the walls, distant and muted and far away.

Far away.

Apparently, she thought dryly, they'd arrived. Where they'd arrived was quiet and secluded. Not for the first time since accepting his offer, Scully doubted her decision. But her decision was made, and there was no turning back.

There was a soft knock on a door, followed by, "Are you awake, Agent Scully?"

"Yes," she said simply.

The hinges on the door squeaked slightly as he pushed it open, and his entrance brought the smell of toast and coffee with him, all soured by the ever present Morley's stench.

"I brought you some breakfast," he told her. "Your bag is next to the door, and there's a bathroom to your right. When you're finished, call and I'll show you the rest of the house."

"Where are we?" she demanded.

"Questions and questions," he scolded lightly. "Eat your breakfast, Agent Scully, and then we'll talk."

* * *

She didn't call him when she was finished, opting instead to navigate her own way through the unfamiliar house. A chance brushing of her fingers against a banister was the only thing that prevented her from tumbling head first down a flight of stairs, and she gripped the polished wood tightly with her fingers. 

"You should have called me," he said when she entered the first room on the lower level, and she realised he had been watching her progress all along.

"You said we would talk," she told him, ignoring his comment. "I've had my breakfast, now we can talk."

"I didn't tell you the entire truth," he announced.

"I didn't expect you would," she returned evenly, but felt her hopes plummet. "But you still expected me to trust you."

"How long did it take Mulder to win your trust?" he questioned curiously.

"I've always trusted Mulder."

He chuckled slightly. "There was a time, Agent Scully, when you doubted. You feared for your future and your career when you were first partnered with him."

Scully remain stonily silent, unmoving.

"I told you, I've studied you for years."

His quiet words made her shudder again, and the dark fear that had been boiling and twisting in her belly when she had agreed to this charade suddenly exploded, coursing through her body like black blood as it turned her mouth bitter and her skin cold.

"I'd like to make an observation," he continued, unaware of her chilled reaction. "You're drawn to powerful men, but you fear their power. You keep your guard up, a wall around your heart. How else do you explain that fearless devotion to a man obsessed with life alone? You'd die for Mulder, but you won't allow yourself to love him."

She swallowed roughly, forcing down bile that had risen in her throat. "Wow," she said, and if her voice was slightly shaky he didn't comment, "you're not just a cold blooded killer, but you're a pop psychologist as well."

"All my life I've been a destroyer. Before I die, I'd like to prove that I'm capable of something more."

She hoped she kept the doubt well masked from him.

"I've watched you, Agent Scully," he said suddenly, coughing. "You and Mulder. You're both a part of the game, and to keep the game playing we need you there."

"I'm sick of playing."

He chuckled dryly. "No, you're not. If you were, you wouldn't be here."

She wondered if he looked as sick as he sounded. "I'm still not satisfied with the reason you've given me for involving me in this."

"There are heroes, Agent Scully, hell bent on saving the planet and doing the right thing, but they never last long. They get disillusioned because they set their goals too high and expectations to pure. The real heroes are the ones that don't get remembered, but that pave the paths for the ones that do get remembered."

"A hero for your novel," she said quietly.

"The world can't always be saved, Agent Scully," he said simply. "Sometimes you have to want for yourself."

She licked her lips.

I want.

"So what's the plan?"

* * *

"He's using her!" Mulder snapped, spinning on his heels. "The son of a bitch is using her!" 

"Mulder, calm down!" Skinner ordered, but Mulder ignored him, pacing around the office anxiously.

"I don't even know where she is!" Mulder continued. "She's blind, and alone with that monster, and God alone knows what he's got planned for her."

Skinner's private phone rang, startling Mulder out of his rant, and Skinner answered it without taking his eyes off the man still pacing his office.

"Skinner."

The woman's voice speaking to him brought a sigh of relief to his lips. "Sir?" she asked.

"Agent Scully, where are you?" he asked, watching as Mulder spun on his heel and drew to an anxious halt in front of him.

"I'm sorry to call you on this line," Scully said blithely, ignoring his question.

"No, that's all right," Skinner said quickly, "it's just that we've been worried about you."

"Everything's okay, I just wanted you to express that to Mulder," she said calmly.

"Well he's standing right here, why don't you do that yourself?"

"No, Sir, that's okay," she said quickly. "Can you tell him that I'll call him later and … just tell him that I'm fine." The line went dead in his ear as she hung up.

"She says she's fine," Skinner said simply.

"She's in trouble," Mulder disagreed.

"There is nothing you can do, Mulder," Skinner pointed out. "You have to wait."

"Fuck waiting," Mulder glowered. The door slammed loudly behind him, rattling in its frame.

* * *

The dress felt soft against her skin; he'd told her it was black. The spring breeze caressed her skin as they strolled from his car to the restaurant, and she bit back a slight shiver. 

"Warm enough?" he asked.

"Fine," she said curtly.

Inside was warm, hot wax of candles heavy on the air, mixing with rich smells of wines and carefully prepared meals. The delicate sound of knives tapping plates and the gentle murmur of other patrons informed Scully that wherever they were, it wasn't in the middle of nowhere after all.

"Here," he said, guiding her to a chair.

She sat down gratefully, automatically letting her hands flutter across the table to orientate herself.

"I haven't told you how impressed I am," he said abruptly.

"At what?"

"Your ability to cope," he said simply. "They underestimated your strength, I think, and that was one of their biggest mistakes."

"They?" she asked delicately, arching an eyebrow.

"You were put with Mulder to debunk his theories, Agent Scully. Your integrity in choosing the truth over your career wasn't something they expected. Nor was your recovery from cancer, or your acceptance of your barrenness."

The words stung, but Scully didn't flinch. "Everything was designed to break me," she said.

"Not at first, no, but Mulder's ability to keep going, his strength to keep going, that comes from you, Agent Scully. They thought they could break you, and through breaking you they'd break Mulder."

"You don't believe that."

His breath rattled in his lungs as he exhaled. "No," he said simply. "Mulder will be a real danger only when he has nothing left to lose. The more he has to lose, the less he'll risk."

The conversation made her uncomfortable; to understand how the man in front of her viewed not only Mulder, but herself as well, was unsettling. He didn't see them as people; he saw them as pawns. As a means of continuing a game he was playing. A game he was once winning but now steadily losing.

"So your contact is going to join us?" she asked quietly, turning the conversation away from Mulder.

"I presume so," he said easily.

Her fingers fluttered across the table, searching for something to distract her. "You extol on great trust but you still haven't told me who he is," she persisted.

"The man who is going to give us what you want."

What I want. She shuddered slightly, despite the warmth of the restaurant. "I'm still not clear what my importance is to this exchange."

"This man, Cobra, needs assurances that the science he's going to hand over won't fall into the wrong hands. I've told him of you; he's expecting to meet you here."

She frowned, but he spoke again before she could question him further. "I must tell you something else. Something that is so incredible, so unbelievable, that to know it is to look at the entire world anew. What we're being given is the holiest for grails, Dana, it's the cure for all human disease."

His words were grand and glorious, but the doubt still flared brightly within her.

"How?" she demanded sceptically.

"It's from that final frontier," he breathed, "It's largely extraterrestrial."

"Then you would be cured," she stated.

"That which makes miracles can also make great evil. There are those who would use this power for their own purposes. To choose who will live and who will die. Theoretically I can be cured, but everything I've told you about wanting to make right… I'm a lonely man, Dana."

The silence between them stretched, charged and alive, crackling. She wished she could see him then, wished she could see his eyes and know if they were as desolate as his voice, and if it were true.

"Excuse me," he said awkwardly, rising to his feet. The table lurched slightly as he bumped it, and Scully was left alone with her thoughts.

"Can I get you a drink, Ma'am?" a waiter asked at her shoulder, appearing out of nowhere.

"Water, thank you," she said softly, not moving her head.

The water appeared several seconds later, along with a small package. "What's this?" she asked, fingering it. It was small and square, enclosed in what she thought was a thick envelope.

"Someone left it for you, Ma'am, and asked me to give it to you."

"Thank you," she said softly.

She smelt the Morley's and peppermints before she heard him return. He sat down opposite her before she said anything. "You have it," he said, sounding surprised.

"Yes."

"May I have a look at it?"

She wanted to say no, but she didn't have a choice. Silently she handed it to him, listening as he opened the envelope and slid the disk out. "Well?" she asked.

"It's a CD," he said simply. "Did you talk to him?"

"No," she shook her head. "A waiter dropped it off when he brought me my water. Said someone asked him to give it to me."

Suddenly she felt sick, her stomach roiling and tightening with fear. "What now?"

"Let's go," he said, rising to his feet. His voice was distant and cold; she knew something had gone wrong, and suddenly she feared for her life.

She didn't protest when he took her arm and led her out of the restaurant; the menus still lying untouched where the waiter had put them.

* * *

The harder he bounced the ball against the wooden floor, the louder the noise was that echoed around his apartment, and the more the walls rattled in protest. He bounced the ball harder and harder, frustration mounting as the noise increased. 

A loud banging at his door interrupted him, and he threw the ball moodily across the room, watching with disinterest as it crashed against the door.

"Mulder!" Someone yelled in exasperation, and he recognised the voice as Frohike's.

"It's about time!" he snapped as he yanked the door open, revealing the gunmen. "Talk about the masters of disguise," he quipped sourly as they hurried into his apartment.

"Sorry it took so long," Byers apologised, "but we got into some serious heat tracing emails from Scully's account."

"What?" he demanded sharply.

"We traced her credit cards, and found nothing, but we found evidence of correspondence with someone from the Defence Department on her computer," Langley explained.

"Someone went to a lot of trouble to hide it," Frohicke added. "They deleted everything from her inbox, but we found several on her hard drive."

"From someone called Cobra, a federal fugitive who we think has some information he wants to give Scully," Byers continued the explanation. "The last five are hinting at a meeting, and then they just stop."

"When does the last one stop?" Mulder demanded.

"Just before she went blind. If this correspondence continued, Mulder, it would have been on a voicemail account after that. She went to great lengths to keep this from you, Mulder."

"No, she wouldn't do that," Mulder disagreed, shaking his head. "She knows I'd find her."

"Mulder, we can't find her," Byers said carefully. "There's no where to start looking."

Mulder ground his teeth in frustration, clenching his hands into fists next to his legs. The silence was shattered by the sound of his phone ringing, and he looked at it warily for several seconds before moving to answer it.

_

* * *

_

He found Scully at 4:03am, sitting by herself on a plastic bench in a greasy diner just outside a small town he'd never heard of before, and never wanted to go to again. Her hair was tangled and her black dress crumpled, a half empty mug of cold coffee standing before her. The relief turned his blood cold.

She looked up as his shoes squeaked across the old linoleum, her face tired in the weak orange light. "Mulder?" she asked.

"It's me, Scully," he replied, smiling slightly even though she couldn't see it. "I… I was worried."

Her smile was small and bitter. "I'm fine, Mulder. Nothing happened," she said calmly.

The cold of his relief melted in the heat of his anger. "Nothing… Scully, you disappear for two days and tell me nothing happened?" he demanded, sitting down in the booth opposite her.

"I thought… I thought he could give me something," she admitted, sitting straighter and pushing her hair behind her ears. "I didn't expect he would, but I had to try."

Mulder was silent, but she didn't elaborate, and this wasn't the place to pick and argument. "You ready to go?" he asked mockingly.

She dipped her head and rose stiffly to her feet, grimacing in disgust as her bare feet moved over the grubby floor.

"Where are your shoes?" he asked.

"I took them off," she explained. "Somewhere."

He located them under the table, and threaded his fingers through their thin black straps when she said she didn't want to wear them. Outside she made him wait while she stood on a patch of spring grass, her toes curling into the cool growth and a half smile playing on her face.

"You know something, Scully?" he asked her suddenly, watching her gentle smile in the moonlight.

"What?" she responded lightly; the lightness a deliberate attempt to avoid the conversation Mulder was desperate to have with her. To find out why she did it. His anger still boiled, but it was tempered by the sight of her alive and strangely relaxed as she stood in her bare feet.

"If I had you on a date in that dress, I wouldn't leave you stranded at the side of the road in a bad diner."

Her smile broadened to an intensity he rarely witnessed from her, a throaty chuckle filling the air between them. "I guess I'll keep that in mind then," she told him. "Take me home, Mulder," she ordered.

"Anything for you, Scully," he smiled softly in return. And when he threaded his fingers through hers and led her back to the car her hand was warm and comforting in his, her grip solid and real.

* * *

They hadn't spoken on the ride home; in the darkness of the car Mulder had brooded and she had dozed fitfully, the tension between them hissing and spitting despite the lightness they had shared in that patch of moonlight outside the diner. 

Now in his apartment with the gunmen crowding around a computer to see what she had found, she was all too aware of his dark presence crowding the room like a storm cloud waiting to burst. She sat silently on his sofa, biting her lip in anticipation.

"It's empty," Frohike said softly, his voice dissolving the tattered silence between them. "There is nothing on this disk."

"What?" she demanded, rising jerkily to her feet. "That can't be."

"It's empty, Scully," Byers said flatly.

Her mouth dropped open and she sucked her breath in quickly, willing the words to be a lie. "Are you sure?"

The silence answered her more than their words. "What the hell is this?" she exploded suddenly, spinning angrily on her heel and marching toward the door.

"He used you, Scully," Mulder said simply, his hands grabbing her shoulders and holding her still. "He used you like a God damn puppet!"

"But… Mulder!" she cried desperately.

"He did it for himself, Scully, for the science. The sincerity was a mask, his true motives never changed."

She shuddered under his hands, trying desperately to control her rampant emotions. "You… you think he used me."

"He did use you," Mulder said softly. "Scully," he sighed.

Her eyes burnt with tears, but she refused to let them fall. "I want to go home, Mulder," Scully said quietly.

No one said anything as she gathered her jacket and let Mulder lead her out of his apartment.

He'd lied to her and used her. Promised her what she wanted and then ripped it from out of her grasp, and in the process she'd betrayed Mulder by keeping secrets and telling lies.

She should have known better than to trust the devil.

* * *

She knew he watched her sometimes, thinking she didn't know he was staring at her. At first it had unnerved her, and she'd fidgeted, moved her body around and showed her discomfort in the hopes that he would stop. Now she accepted it; it was almost comforting knowing he was watching. 

Scully picked at her pizza half-heartedly; well aware she was pulling off pepperoni and not just pineapple. A week since she'd made her decision and lost something she hadn't had in the first place.

"What are you thinking, Scully?" Mulder asked her.

She listened to the sound of his shirt rubbing against her sofa while he made himself comfortable. "That I want to watch a really crummy movie or read a really cheesy novel," she said simply.

He was quiet for a while, contemplating her words. "What's it like, Scully?" he asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Being blind."

She sighed, shrugging. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up, open my eyes and still be able to see. I keep thinking of things in terms of 'when I see that again'."

"Is that what he promised you?"

Scully nodded silently; a quick smile tugging sadly at her lips. "He promised to give me what I wanted most. We don't know what caused my blindness, so I knew logically there wasn't anything he could do. But part of me, Mulder… part of me wanted so badly for it to be real."

She sighed, tucking her feet beneath her where she sat on her corner of the sofa, resting her cheek against her knees. "I don't know what to do now, Mulder," she admitted softly. "I have no idea what to do. I have nothing left."

"That's not true, Scully," he rebuked gently. "You're still beautiful and intelligent; you're still everything you were before."

She chuckled, but it was dry and hurt her heart. "I'm going to have start making some choices," she said softly. "About what I want to do, and where I want to go now."

"And?" he asked hesitantly.

She shrugged. "I don't know, Mulder. I don't know what I want to do now."

"If you need anything, Scully…"

She smiled at him. "I know, Mulder. Thank you."

"I don't get it," Mulder said suddenly, shattering the silence.

"Get what?"

"Why drag you out all that way for something he could have gotten himself? He didn't need you there, Scully."

She licked her lips thoughtfully. "I think… He's dying, Mulder. Whatever was on that disk… I think he needed it enough to risk using me."

"And you let him use you," Mulder said bitterly.

Guilt and anger bit into her, the rawness of the wound not ready for Mulder's accusations. "Maybe he did, Mulder, but he's used you before too," she snapped waspishly. "Was it that wrong of me, Mulder, to try and get my sight back?" she demanded. "Was it that wrong to dream that I could fix it? Why, Mulder? Why is it wrong for me to want something so badly I'm willing to risk everything for it?" Somewhere her voice had risen, until it scratched against her throat as she yelled at him.

"You didn't tell me!" he snapped, and she felt the sofa move as he got off it, his footsteps thumping angrily across the floor. "You didn't tell me, Scully! You just disappeared, and I had no idea what happened to you! Do you have any idea how scared I was? You're blind, Scully! Anything could have happened to you!"

She swallowed roughly, fighting to keep her voice even. "I need you to go now, Mulder," she said.

"No, Scully," he argued. "You can't avoid the issue like this, Scully."

"I need time," she said abruptly. "I… I need to think, Mulder."

"Scully-"

"Go, Mulder."

She listened as he put on his jacket and his shoes; when the door clicked shut behind him and she was left alone on her sofa, she allowed a stifled sob to escape, and buried her face against her legs, holding herself while she fought the demons.

* * *

These days he wasn't sure where he stood with Scully. Her temper was as hot and cold as her attitude; some days she'd call him and want to talk about everything and anything while other days he could barely get two words out of her on the phone. 

But even on the good days, something was wrong. Something was indefinably out of place with Scully, and Mulder had no idea what was it was, or what to do to fix it. And with those thoughts in mind, Mulder found himself once again standing on Scully's doorstep clutching a box of pizza for the "Friday night is pizza night" ritual they'd established.

"It's open, Mulder," she called before he'd even raised his hand to knock, and he accepted her ability to detect him there as part of the strange new perception she had of the world without her sight.

Inside he found her in her pyjama's. "You okay?" he asked, placing the pizza box on the kitchen counter and moving over to her fridge for the beer he knew she kept there.

"I'm fine," she said, but her smile was wan and her face was pale.

"You sure?" he asked, studying her carefully.

"Of course I'm sure," she said brusquely, and he knew a Scully-lie when it was waved in front of his nose.

He was unwilling to press it though; he didn't know Scully anymore these days and she wasn't making it easy for him to understand her.

"Ready for some pizza?" he asked instead, lifting the lid to the box and inhaling the greasy contents. "I didn't get pineapple this time, because-"

"Oh God," she groaned suddenly, spinning around and stumbling across the room.

"Scully?"

The pizza was abandoned on the counter as he followed her run to the bathroom, fear filling him when she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet bowl and started retching. She was sick. What if the cancer was back? What if that bastard had done something to her-

"Shit," Scully whispered, leaning away from the toilet and slouching against the wall, her head resting on the white tiles. "That smell," she added in explanation.

"Are you sick?" he asked stupidly, reaching for a small face cloth and handing it to her, resting his hand on her warm forehead. "You feel a bit warm."

"I'm fine, Mulder," she said gently, surprising him when she reached up and took hold of his hand, curling her fingers around his. "I…"

"Scully, you just threw up," he pointed out, unable to hide the irritation at her denial from his voice. "People who throw up aren't usually fine."

She smiled, but her eyes were terrified.

Oh God. Oh, God, no.

"Yes they do," she whispered, and he was stunned to see a tear slowly roll down one of her cheeks. "They do if they're pregnant, Mulder."

He stared at her. "But you're not pregnant, Scully," he pointed out bluntly.

She laughed almost hysterically through her tears then, and for the first time in the months since she had gone on that irresponsible trip with Spender he was able to read her eyes clearly. Fear.

"You are pregnant," he realised.

She nodded silently, sniffing, her blind eyes unfocused as he gazed down at them.

"How, Scully?" he asked.

"I… I don't know, Mulder," she whispered. "I… I just found out. I have no idea how it happened."

"You… There isn't anyone…" he asked uncertainly, and she blushed as she shook her head. "Then how?"

"Almost two months, Mulder," she whispered. "The dates…"

He stared in her at horror. "Scully, you said he didn't do anything!" he hissed, grabbing hold of her shoulders and squeezing tightly. "You said nothing happened!"

"Nothing did happen!" she shot back, struggling against his hold. "Damn it, Mulder, I don't remember anything happening!"

And then he realised.

"He raped you."

She didn't say anything, but her eyes were uncertain. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what happened, Mulder!" Anger, frustration, fear.

"Oh, Scully," he whispered, letting her shoulders go and pulling her toward him. She was sprawled across his thighs, her flushed face hot and wet as it pressed against his neck, her hair soft against his cheek. "Scully," he whispered again, burying his fingers in her hair and wrapping an arm around her waist as he rocked her on his lap.

"We'll get through this," he promised her, brushing his lips against her temple and resting his cheek on her head. "I promise you, we'll get through this."

She didn't loosen her grip until she fell asleep in his arms, and even then her fingers stayed tangled in his shirt and her face pressed against his neck. He carried her to her bed, and slept next to her that night, holding her until the sun streamed in through the curtains they hadn't closed.

When she woke she was Scully again, in control and undefeated. But he remembered the woman crying in his arms when he saw the dark circles under her eyes, and when she threw up her breakfast he was holding her hair back and wiping her face for her.

* * *

FINI 

A/N2: As you may have noticed, a lot of the dialogue between Scully Spender is taken directly from the episode En Ami While some of the dialogue is direct quotes, I've played with the order in which it was said, the scenes it was said in, and sometimes the wording itself, all to fit in with what I wanted to happen during this fic. Considering this entire fic is based around that episode in an alternate reality, I'm freely admitting that I took the plot line and twisted it for my use to fit into this fic. I'm shamelessly unable to come up with my own fic ideas, so I rely heavily on twisting what actually happens on the show to suit my own purposes :)

I wrote this whole fic after having seen En Ami only once, and so I had to do a massive re-write and cut and paste job to twist it back so that it sort of mirrored the actual ep, not to mention getting the dialogue to fit in a reasonably sensible manner. For that reason, I hope the damn thing actually makes sense, given I had no idea what actually happened during En Ami until I re-watched it several times AFTER writing the fic ;)

I hope you enjoyed, and stick around for part three which is in the process of beingwritten ;)


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